


Beneath the Bluest Moon

by Rubynye



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Bruises, Crying During Sex, F/F, F/M, Origin Myths, Other, Rough Sex, Tentacles, Voyeurism, Watersports, character accidentally consenting to more than they can handle but unwilling to stop, getting off on discomfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 07:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18205187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: How magic came to our people. Or, diplomacy via tentacle sex.





	Beneath the Bluest Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adultcontentacles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adultcontentacles/gifts).



> Written for Adultcontentacles in SMut Swap 2019. I hope you enjoy this!

Little one, I call you, when you’re taller than I! Look at you, blooming like a young tree. Has your mother told you why she’s sent you to me today? To hear the story, of course! The tale of how magic came to our people. The tale of a brave maiden just like you.

Long ago our people came here, in silver ships made for sailing between the stars for generations upon generations, until we found this new Sun and her wet warm fifth world. We don’t know where we were from before, except that it had a great silver moon just as ours, which they took for a sign and so chose this planet. They settled beneath the guiding Moon and began building homes and lives beneath the Sun.

But the Wrigglesome Ones were here first. It was their world for aeons before it was ever any else’s. They came up from the sea and writhed across the land, and when they came to the houses of our people they cast them down, and when they came to our people they wriggled over some, winding them in countless tentacles and disjointing their limbs, and sought to enter others’ minds, filling them with endless screaming.

SO it was decided that a sacrifice would be chosen to appease the wrigglers, before injuries became deaths, before the settlement failed. No other course could be taken, because the silver ships had all broken in the landings, and our people had nowhere else to go.

So they drew lots and chose Tirtzah Gupta. In those days our people wore two names. I don’t know why, it’s not part of the tale. Attend, and meanwhile remove your tunic and breechclout. Tirtzah, as I have said, was a maiden of our people, ten years old, one more than you. I think perhaps one-and-twenty or two-and-twenty of her years — the world they left had shorter years than ours. It spun closer to its Sun. But why am I telling you this? I am to tell you of Tirtzah. She was little and round, so all the stories say. Little and round and brave.

They told her she was but a maiden, she didn’t have to choose a lot, but she insisted on taking her chance with everyone else grown. And when she drew the lot she stood up straight and said, “I will do this. I will appease the Wrigglesome Ones.” 

So she set out. Her lover was one of those with screaming in his head, so he sat curled over and didn’t see her depart. Her friends huddled together and watched her going, afraid to wish her good fortune or to bid her farewell. With all her people silently watching her on her way, Tirtzah set out alone.

Some say she walked, but it was a ways to the estuary where the Wrigglesome Ones dwelt between sea and land. Some say she rode, but upon what? We had tamed no companion beasts as yet. Some say she flew a metal air-cart which we no longer have. I tell you all of these because I cannot choose which I believe over the others. I just know that she arrived as evening welled to night, beneath the blue-tinted open-faced Moon, and that she called out to the Wrigglesome Ones, “I have come to you to stand for my people. I am here.”

And she shed her garments, as you have, and she stood ankle-deep in sand and warm water, and she waited as slow swaying tentacles rose and waved towards her.

Ah, here’s your bosom friend. Hello, my honey-drop, you’ve come just as we’ve made it to the shore. Yes, she needs to be pleasured through the next part. Indeed you do. It is how I first heard this tale, how all of us did, time out of mind. Rest your head upon my knee and open those round thighs and let her lick you. As if this is your first time at it! Don’t try to fool an old woman with your maidenly blushes. Yes, there you go.

And there Tirtzah was, standing on the shore, as the first touches brushed across her brow just like this, as the largest of the Wrigglesome Ones turned towards her, heaving its bulk up on countless tentacles, its central dome pulsing with rippling patterns. She stood and didn’t flinch and didn’t quail as those tentacles wound round her shoulders and her thighs, up into her hair and around her ankles, wreathing her waist and hefting her breasts. She trembled and stood and felt the tentacles slide smooth and flexing and boneless all round her.

But then they pulled her feet from beneath her and she cried out. And she didn’t fall, borne up by the tentacles, and she gasped. And she tumbled over in the tentacles’ hold, spinning through the sea-breeze, finding herself held by countless grasps, wound around her limbs and her ribs, squeezing just that bit tight. She looked down upon the central bulge, upon its concentric warm-colored waves streaming ceaselessly outwards, up into the tentacles it held aloft, holding her aloft.

Tirtzah looked, and saw, and felt, and screamed. 

And the wriggler shuddered all over with her, sliding more tentacles all about her, pressing in the creases of her palms and tracing the curves of her belly, skimming between her thighs and buttocks, curling over her ears and up between her parted lips like a tongue licking into her. Into her mouth, into her bottom, into her cunny — yes, lick her just so, don’t stop, you had your turn to hear — even sliding into her left ear, nearly everywhere it might enter her. 

Tirtzah gasped around the tentacle swelling into her mouth, pressing briny-tangy upon her tongue, as she clenched around the ones swelling into her bottom and inside her cunny till she tingled and crackled around them, as so many others slid back and forth around her wrists and knees and in every winding grip, stroking tighter and tighter. Her fingers clutched around tentacles writhing upon her palms, her toes curled against their slide along her soles, her back arched beneath their thrusting, swelling presses as they kept plunging in deeper, wider, more forcefully, more stickily, yet and further yet, beyond all distinctions between pleasure and pain —

Oh, nicely done, yes, scream, my beauty, scream. You’ve peaked just when Tirtzah did. Well done there with your clever tongue, my sweet! But don’t stop, nuzzle tight between those long thighs. Tirtzah didn’t stop and neither must she. 

Indeed Tirtzah jiggled and bounced in midair, her wetted skin whisked by the sea-breeze and heated further by countless tentacles whisking interwoven trails of fire all along her shuddering flesh. The tentacles tossed her with their every thrust, trailing tips fine and blunt over her tingling-hard nipples and achingly spread lips and every tender fold and crinkle and crease of her, and even as they slid slickly within her they swelled till her body strained around them and her heart pounded like it might burst. All she could hear was the roar of her rushing blood, as tentacles stroked and licked the blazing shells of her ears. Another flattened between her coil-wound breasts, another to the pulse in her throat, and her head swam with the crashing tide of sensation, every wave swamping her further. 

And then another applied a sucker to the nub of her pleasure, stroking, tugging, pulling, and she peaked again, arching, foundering, screaming till her throat burned around the tentacle quivering on her tongue. She peaked with such force her own water poured forth, gushing hot down her thighs, and a writhing clutch of tentacles rushed up to meet it, to be drenched by it, shuddering in evident shared pleasure as they swept and suckled away every last drop from her tingling skin.

Oh yes, that’s a thought, isn’t it? A naked girl suspended by and spitted upon tentacles, writhing in their grasp as they writhe all around her, driving her into overwhelming depths of ecstasy? Go on, thrash in your delight just as she did. 

And truly Tirtzah did, driven wilder and wilder, digging her nails into the tentacles she clutched, frantically sucking at the one within her mouth, clenching and squirming as she rode the ones pounding up pleasure within her. Her peaks melted together into rolling waves of boiling honey and streaming salt as she screamed and groaned and twisted amidst the undulating rhythms all around her, higher and higher and higher until she shrieked and shattered and fell through infinity into the deepest swoon.

Go on, pretty thing, go on and follow her. Oh, don’t you look lovely, arched and glowing. Oh look at you, sweeting, your cheeks and chin all dripping wet. Well and beautifully done, both of you. Well done in Tirtzah’s honor. Come up, come up, stroke the tears from her cheeks, enfold each other. Just breathe. I’ll go onwards when you’re ready. Just lie in each other’s arms. Just breathe.

All right — no, don’t kiss her yet, the tale’s not done. Impetuous young things. Open your ears and shut your mouth. As I was to _say_ , Tirtzah swooned into the warmest of darknesses, which cradled her close like a warm winter blanket wrapped all around her. Into that darkness she heard a voice. Not a human voice, a mind’s voice. And the voice said, _Greetings, maiden._

“Hello?” Tirtzah asked into the quiet darkness, and all around her a soft wave of happiness and fulfillment answered her call, followed quickly by an even softer soothing, like the lightest strokes all over her body and her mind. 

_Quiet,_ she heard, _your mind is finally quiet._ She thought a formless question, and the voiceless voice continued, _We have tried to speak with your people but your minds were not quiet. We worried at how our attempts seemed only to hurt your folk. Thank you for coming to us, letting us taste you, sharing with us your agitation and your quiet._

“My pleasure,” she replied, dazed, and then heard herself and laughed the thought of laughing, and felt answering amusement ripple all over and through her. “I am here to stand for my people. To talk? To talk.”

 _You are new to this world,_ they told her, _there is much you need to know,_ as shapes condensed inside her mind, as the first strands of light appeared in the darkness. And they told her indeed, of the magic streaming alongside blood or sap or serum through every living creature, through the cycles of the Sun and Moon, through the land and waters, of how it might be sensed and shaped. They taught her how to share sensations and speak in thoughts, and when she thanked them their answer was countless kisses as if all the stars in the sky bloomed in her skin.

 _We like meeting other minds,_ they told her, and _you are particularly delicious_ , which filled her with glowing warmth. _We will make friendship between our peoples and sometimes share pleasures. We shall?_

“Yes,” Tirtzah said, or thought, or sang. “Yes, we shall.”

Presently she woke beneath the Moon, shining far across the sky, and oh, she was sore. You have never been so sore ever in your lives. Only birth-givers have ever been so sore. Bruises dotted and wound across her skin, and how she ached with fullness from the lips of her cunny to the corners of her mouth, an almost glowing ache low in her belly and at the joins of her thighs. But she lay in a gentle tangle of tentacles, her hair trailing wet into warm seawater, the Wrigglesome ones surrounding her in a friendly rather than fearful press. Now she could feel the radiance of their minds like sunlight through cloud. Supporting her with tentacles and touches they set her upon her feet, raised her garments to her hands, and sent her homewards again.

And she shone in everyone’s minds ahead of her coming, like the rising Sun and Moon light the sky ahead of themselves. Her friends came out to meet her in the dawn, holding out their arms to her, laughing and sobbing their relief and happiness, and she fell into their arms, laughing and weeping her triumph and delight. She could hear their minds like voices in her left ear, an upwelling of welcome deeper than their words. They squeezed her so tightly all her bruises lit up beneath their pressing arms, and she laughed over the pain and held them fast.

Then they shifted back, and her lover stood there, his eyes clear with sanity, his face shining for her. She fell into his arms and he wrapped his around her and bore her away from everyone’s voices and minds.

He brought her into the nearest dwelling and they fell together upon a bed, already twining their tongues like the tentacles had twined around her, already pulling at each other’s clothes. He kissed her every blood-hot bruise, saying or thinking or singing, “I heard you, I heard you returning, I heard your voice and all the screaming went away,” and as she gasped and wound her hands in his hair and kissed his nape and crown and mouth, she felt his fingers press the small of her back, bone and flesh where tentacles had curled. 

Every fingers’ breadth of Tirtzah’s skin was sore and aflame, burning all the hotter under his eager sharp-toothed mouth, and as she sobbed and clung to him he kissed her brow and pushed asunder her thighs, and as he surged into her with passionate delight she screamed and wound herself around him as if she were as boneless as the tentacles.

Her lover sobbed too, with all the pain she’d lifted from him, all his helpless fear for her, all his pride and delight in her, and they kissed the salt tears from each other’s cheeks and gasped together lip to lip as he thrust and thrust into her. He was so hard within her, thumping her deepest bruises, all burning fullness inside her, and yet she gloried in it, not just in bringing her lover pleasure but finding a further extent of her own. In love as in journeys, the weariness may gather, but that last push may reach the highest heights of all and at the last the safety of home.

So it was with Tirtzah as she lay with her lover, and as he moved within her she moved in him, her mind twining with his, imprinting upon him all she’d been taught. When he peaked she felt it all through, the warm gush of seed and the bright rush of pleasure, and when she did she felt him tremble from after-shudders to astonishment, felt her ecstasy stream tingling beneath his skin.

So Tirtzah came home, having accepted the Wrigglesome One’s friendship, having been given the knowledge of magic to give to her people. In her time she bore the first child of the new settlement, her eldest daughter Miswase of the ever-waving hair, who followed her mother in making friends with the other peoples of our planet, who was the first and strongest of us born with the magic in our blood. But hers is another tale, and I hope one day to tell it to you both when you bring your birth-ripe bellies to me.

But not before then.

Now you know this story, and now you’ve had pleasure, my maiden, but feel how your sweet friend wriggles beside you, alight and unsatisfied, your taste full in her mouth. Now you may kiss her, pay her back joy for joy, while I watch you and catch my breath from storytelling, while I remember the feel of being young.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "human sacrifice/tentacle monster accepting the sacrifice," hopefully with a bit of a twist.


End file.
